Experiment in Irritation
by Cynlee
Summary: Mike is on a mission. Turtle tot fiction.


_I'm not really happy with the ending. And as for title? I'm probably going to change it. This takes place when they were kids, by the way-- I forgot to say that earlier.  
_

_Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT. I do have a nifty limited edition Eastman and Laird poster drawn for a fundraiser and bought for me by Reijiro!_

**Experiment in Irritation**

Mike surveyed his equipment.

Notebook: check!

Pencils: Check!

Stopwatch: Mega-check!

Armed with his supplies, the young turtle set out to conduct his experiments.

**Subject: Leonardo. Wears blue. Styles himself "leader", though Sensei really hasn't put it in writing yet. Known for his rock steady concentration. Note: Once meditated for forty-seven minutes without falling asleep! Subject is currently seated on the floor, reading a humongous book that looks boring.**

Mike flopped down next to the studious turtle, who appeared to be absorbed in the tome labeled "A Tale of Two Cities".

"Whatcha doin'?" Mike needlessly asked, as a way of drawing Leo's attention.

And he poised his pencil over his notebook.

"Practicing katas, Mike. What's it LOOK like I'm doing?" came the response. "I gotta read this before Splinter gets back. I'm taking a test on it today. I've only read it three times, and I think I can pass, but still, leave nothing to chance!"

Mike nodded even as he noted down the response. Then he noted the time, put down the notebook and pencil, fixed his attention on the still-reading Leonardo, and then, with a clearing of his throat he pointed a finger at his brother's shoulder.

"I'm not touching you."

And he started the stopwatch.

Five seconds passed.

"I'm not touching you."

Ten seconds.

"I'm not touching you."

Fifteen seconds.

"I'm not--"

"What the heck, Mike?" Leo snapped. "I'm trying to READ here!"

Mike stopped the timer and made satisfactory notes in his notebook.

"Thanks, bro," he cheerfully said without any explanation and went in search of his next victim-- I mean, subject.

**Subject: Donatello. Wears Purple. Doesn't like to be teased about it. Intelligent, inventive, potential for becoming a Mad Scientist who could take over the World. Note: Is the only turtle in the lair who can fix the television. Still, risks must be expected and accepted in such experiments. Subject is currently at the kitchen table, attempting to make something with his chemistry set, though it really looks like a bunch of old junk.**

Mike joined Donatello at the table. Don's safety goggles were firmly in place, and protective gloves (specially designed and adapted by himself out of mittens) adorned his busy hands. He had an array of "beakers" (i.e., old pill containers) on the table filled with various interesting-looking fluids. Real eyedroppers (!) rested beside each of the "beakers". Before him was an old ice cube tray, each space containing a red-purple-blueish liquid.

Mike slid his notebook onto the table, prepared to write.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Making a red cabbage pH indicator. I'm gonna test the pH of several chemicals."

"We have chemicals? Does Splinter know?" Mike, momentarily distracted from his own experiment, reached a hand out towards one of the beakers. Don swatted him with a mittened hand.

"Don't! You're not protected. And 'sides, these chemicals are just stuff we have around the lair." Don showed Mike his list. "I have ammonia, baking soda, lemon juice, vinegar, cream of tartar, some soda pop, and liquid laundry detergent. I'm gonna discover their pH levels and write a report and earn another gold star in science-- I mean, write a report."

And he effectively blocked out Mike as he carefully filled a dropper with the first of his "chemicals".

"Item number one: NH3," he said to himself, as his hand hovered over the ice cube tray.

Mike clicked his timer even as he extended his pointing finger towards Don's shoulder.

"I'm not touching you."

Don watched as the first few drops of the ammonia hit the cabbage juice, and grinned as the color immediately changed.

"I'm not touching you."

"Now C6H8O7!!"

"I'm not touching you."

Don watched as the lemon juice reacted to the cabbage juice.

"I'm not touching you."

"Hmmmm... what about the NaHCO3?"

"I'm not--"

"Jeeze, Mikey!!" Don suddenly exploded. "You're not touching me! I get it! Now shut up!"

Mike stopped the timer, a huge smile on his face.

"Thanks, bro. Oh, and congratulations. You beat Leo."

And leaving his momentarily puzzled and distracted brother behind, Mike moved on to complete his mission.

**Subject: Raphael. Wears red. Yells a lot. Some call him "hothead" (Leonardo). Note: Very Strong. Can open stubborn pickle jars for hungry brothers. Subject is seated on the floor of the bedroom, playing with his toy motorcycle instead of doing his homework.**

Mike sat down next to Raph, reached out his pointing finger, and got the stopwatch ready.

"I'm not--"

BAP!!!!

ooooooooOOOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOOoooooooo

Mike, an ice pack held firmly to his injured eye, sat glumly at the kitchen table as Splinter read the notebook

**Results of experiment in irritation: Subjects generally responded as predicted. However, the estimated times were badly estimated. Subject one, noted for his concentration, lasted only approximately fifteen seconds before making a response. Subject two beat subject one by at least ten seconds instead of cracking before subject one. Subject three didn't even let me start the timer, so there is no way to accurately record the length of time it took to irritate him**

**Note: how was I to know he was grounded in the first place and didn't want to be disturbed? Splinter doesn't always advertise these things.**

**Conclusion: It doesn't take much to irritate brothers.**

Splinter looked up from the notebook.

"You needed to do an experiment in order to learn this lesson?"

Mike shrugged.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I asked you to do an observation exercise. All you were supposed to do was simply write what you observed about your brothers, in order to improve your writing."

Mike nodded and sighed.

"Yeah, I know.... but if I'm gonna be a **great** writer, I gotta expect _some_ danger."

And he hopped off his chair and went into his room to recover from the day's excitement, already turning over in his mind what he would do tomorrow.


End file.
